


Our house

by Evil_Keshi



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, POV Outsider, Personification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23860498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Keshi/pseuds/Evil_Keshi
Summary: She remembers making her decision to always protect them that night, as they fell asleep on the floor, hugging each other, legs tangled, parted lips slowly breathing onto a tattooed neck. They were so young, so in love, and she watched them grow into their relationship with warmth burning in her core.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Comments: 38
Kudos: 201





	Our house

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I hope you are all doing well and taking care of yourselves! I'm back with a very short story I had the idea for this morning, I hope you'll enjoy it. The titles comes from Madness' song _Our house_ but there is no direct link between the lyrics and this oneshot. Enjoy your reading!

  


In theory, all houses are the same. Four walls, a front door, several windows, a roof. Some remain humble, some others take liberties and frivolities and some add a large garden or a cobbled courtyard, a funny chimney, or colourful paints on their facades. Some get cocky and introduce themselves as mansions or castles, with their elegant, marble staircases and an air of ancient nobility that doesn't make the maintenance work any cheaper.

She? She stays humble. She has her four walls, a front door, several windows and a roof like all the others. She's not big but she's not tiny either, and she's proud of her small garden - there are pink roses in a corner, not far from the area where _they_ decided to try and grow their own vegetables, with mild success depending on whether the slugs let the sprouts be or not.

She's proud and protective of her garden, yes, as she is of the family that tends to it so carefully, so gently. She loves them, in her own way, and she feels content watching over them, keeping her walls and her roof strong to shelter them from the rain and the cold, or the sometimes suffocating heat in the summer.

She has been theirs for a few years already and she's grown very fond of the two of them, which turned into four of them, with time. She could tell many stories if she wanted to but she's silent, happy and warm with the love she protects.

She remembers the first touch, how rings-adorned fingers pushed her front door open with mixed excitement and apprehension - she was so new to them, the beginning of a brand new adventure - as they clutched a freshly-acquired key in their grasp. She remembers their first night after moving in, how they just collapsed in the middle of their unopened boxes that littered what would be their living room, exhausted but happy and together.

She remembers making her decision to always protect them that night, as they fell asleep on the floor, hugging each other, legs tangled, parted lips slowly breathing onto a tattooed neck. They were so young, so in love, and she watched them grow into their relationship with warmth burning in her core.

To her, their story began with that first touch on her front door, but she knows they had to come from somewhere. The only hints she has are the pictures on the walls, her walls. They're almost a part of her, from the prom picture with the two teenagers standing side by side and holding hands with shy smiles, to the one from a vacation. They're in an outdoor pool, mountains in the background, the tattooed man with water up to his chest as he holds onto his lover's knees, resting on each side of his neck. They look more confident, more comfortable in their relationship as he carries his partner on his shoulders through the water, their smiles bright and happy.

There are more pictures taken before her time, shy teenagers with heart eyes and young adults next to piles of textbooks, coffee shop pictures, friends and family pictures, pet pictures - she knows that cat though, the tiny and fluffy monster that gnaws onto slippers and plays with the flowers on the coffee table until the vase tumbles and breaks.

Other pictures though, she was there to witness in real time. The housewarming party, for example. She saw it all, she even saw more moments than the pictures captured, but she will stay silent on those. Whose business is it to know that while they pretended to get more wine, they actually ditched their guests to make out in their bedroom? No one's, that is right. She protects many moments like those, such as the tears they shed when the tattooed man ended up proposing one night, and she remains silent on the other kind of tears too, those that came from fights.

They don't argue often and it's even rarer that they do so about something serious but... She has felt her walls shake at the cold awkwardness between her two owners, her two _idiots_ , for it turns out that when they do fight, it is not because of the other making a mistake nor either of them wronging the other... No, it's because of their own insecurities, their own fears of holding the other back because maybe _I'm not good enough_ and _what if he feels obligated to stay with me?_ , and she remembers occurrences like that stupid discussion about a better career opportunity that her tattooed man clearly didn't want while her rings-bearer man feared to hinder his partner's professional future if he spoke up to keep him by his side.

Idiots, idiots, idiots!

She loves her idiots though and she's glad that they are mature adults, most of the time anyway, who eventually communicate and never, _ever_ , go to bed mad at each other. They love each other too much to let a situation of that sort poison their relationship.

She has witnessed many other episodes of their life together, like how they both cried after receiving some mail that looked very official, only for them to come back a few days later with a baby in their arms - that explained the full makeover in what had been a guestroom upstairs, then. Two years later, another child joined them, a toddler this time, and she remembers spreading warmth through her walls as much as she could, trying to share her happiness for the family's new addition.

The pictures changed, after that. On the desk in the tattooed man's study, where his wedding picture stood, there are now two others frames. Behind the fragile glass, the first is of two little boys hugging each other, while the second shows him and his partner giving piggy rides to their kids while they hold hands. The two men wear shorts, a heavy-looking camera hangs from the rings-bearer's neck, and the kids have sunhats and sunglasses on. Another vacation, in family, this time.

This is what she loves witnessing, the subtle or not-so subtle changes that strengthen her owners' relationship and family: the new ring on the rings-bearer's hand that matches the only ring that adorns the tattooed man's fourth finger, the tiny pairs of shoes added in the hall next to their parents', or the childish screams on a Christmas morning that disrupt the silence when, years prior, only peaceful snoring and quiet giggles over the crêpes at breakfast could be heard. Despite the noise though, life is still peaceful and bright. She likes it.

So yes, in theory, all houses are the same. Four walls, a front door, several windows, a roof... She, however, is special. She harbours a love within her walls that she's proud of, a love like no other, not one she has witnessed before, no matter how many years she's been standing and watching. It's love in all acceptations of the term, between two lovers - husbands, as they like to remind each other with idiotic but enamoured smiles - and it's love between kids and their parents, between the brothers themselves, between a family. She doesn't need a large garden or a cobbled courtyard, a funny chimney, or colourful paints on her facade. She has them.

It is enough.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments and until next time!


End file.
